


I'll Lie and You'll Believe

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Costume parties, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Modern AU, Secret Relationship, Strangers, firefighter!Bellamy, future!fic, paramedic!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of drabbles and prompt fills from Tumblr.  You will find anything that's not long enough to be it's own stand alone work here.  Chapter One is a table of contents with titles/summaries.</p><p>Title is from "Just Tonight" by The Pretty Reckless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Chapter Two:**   _Because, Baby, You Set Me On Fire_

  * A giveaway fic for bellamyseveride on Tumblr, who prompted "I´d love to have a fire fighter bellamy and paramedic clarke drabble."



**Chapter Three** :  _On Top of the World_

  * For tinykhaleesi on Tumblr who sent me a number of options, one of which was Raven managing to fix up some abandoned theme park rides.  So here we go!



**Chapter Four** : _So Zeus and the Mad Hatter Walk Into a Bar..._

  * For officialcatheronie/protectlydiamartin2k15 on Tumblr: "Ok but bellarke at a Halloween party, both slightly tipsy, smushed too close together on a crowded couch and a drunk friend dares them to kiss, and they've had worse idea before, so why not?"



**Chapter Five:** _Fright Night_

  * For goldenheadfreckledheart on Tumblr: "SPOOPY PROMPT: Bellamy and Clarke work at six flags fright fest and they compete to see who can scare the most people."



**Chapter Six** :  _Untitled Halloween Drabble_

  * For the ever lovely kay-emm-gee on Tumblr: "Bellarke + coworkers + Halloween. If you want more detail (but feel free to ignore): maybe Clarke (secretly?) covers Bellamy's shift so he can go trick-or-treating with his niece/nephew." _  
_



**Chapter Seven:** _The Best Halloween Yet_

  * For my eternal love svnsbaks on Tumblr: "bellarke as parents who make super duper amazing costumes for their kids; one year their is Hermione and a dobby swaddled in blankets, greek heroes and their vicious beautiful goodness complete with armor and snake hair, etc etc the costumes are up to you!"



**Chapter Eight:** _May the Best Intern Win_

  * _"_ This is a giveaway fic for my real life bae biotictrash on Tumblr who doesn’t watch the 100 or ship bellarke but by some cosmic twist of fate won the giveaway anyway and wanted something with Jeff Goldblum. So here we are."



**Chapter Nine:** _Only the Beautiful Die Young_

  * From anonymous on Tumblr: “hey thanks for literally saving my life by pushing me out of the way of that car, but now you’re yelling at me bc i was reading and walking and you said i’m too cute to die” au bellarke w/ bell being the one reading



**Chapter Ten:** _Addicted to You_

  * From anonymous on Tumblr: "Clarke and Bellamy get paired up in a buddy system at a house party but they obvs don't get on, and then angsty stuff ensues" _  
_




	2. Because, Baby, You Set Me On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A giveaway fic for [bellamyseveride](http://bellamyseveride.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, who prompted "I´d love to have a fire fighter bellamy and paramedic clarke drabble."

The air was heavy with smoke and Clarke’s eyes were burning, but it was a familiar enough sensation to her now and she felt a thrill of pride in her stomach as she slammed closed the doors to the ambulance.

The engine roared to life as the red lights on the roof lit up, the scream of the siren blasting through the night.  Not long after, the ambulance pulled away, disappearing into the dark gloom of the middle of the night.  Clarke leaned against a telephone pole and ran a hand through her hair, damp with sweat.  She should have known better than to take a shower that morning, especially since she’d known for weeks that she would be on call tonight.  And it was just the beginning of winter, meaning that this was likely to be just the first of many accidental house fires.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Clarke Griffin,” a familiar and all too snarky voice said from behind her.  “Fancy seeing you here.”

Clarke took only the smallest of moments to collect herself before turning, a fake smile plastered across her face.  “As if you don’t have access to the paramedic on call schedule.”

Bellamy Blake’s grin was wolfish as he replied, “oh, you know me, simply much too busy to look over such mundane things as schedules.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “She wasn’t married was she?” Clarke snapped back.  “You get her number?”

Bellamy’s head tilted.  “Oh, Clarke,” he said calmly.  “You know better than anyone that I’d never do that.”

 

_Four Hours Earlier --_

_“We have got to stop doing this,” Clarke said, more than a little breathless, flopping back on the pillows, Bellamy’s arm cushioned behind her head._

_“Where’s your sense of adventure, Griffin?” he taunted, fingers carding through her hair.  Despite herself, she shivered._

_“Currently?  Driven out by my sense of prudence and desire to keep my job.”_

_“Who said anything about losing your job?” he asked, sounding bored._

_Clarke heaved herself up onto one elbow and glared down at him.  “You know as well as I do that after that nightmare from three years ago--”_

_Bellamy waved a hand dismissively.  “Those two were idiots.  They had it coming.”_

_“Yes, well,” Clarke continued, raising her voice to cut him off, “after that you know the city’s not very intent on fraternization between first responders.”_

_Bellamy grinned lazily up at her.  “If you’re worried that I’ll save you from the burning building instead of the building’s residents, don’t be.  I would never.”_

_“Oh, how comforting,” Clarke grumbled.  “You certainly know how to lay on the charm, don’t you.”_

_He just smiled, fingers tracing an aimless pattern into the bare skin around her collar bone._

_“You know I’m on call tonight,” she said cautiously after a while._

_“I figured that was why you didn’t throw your clothes all over the room like last time,” he deadpanned.  “What is it they call it?  Easy access?”_

_She reached out to slap him but he caught her wrist instead.  “You want to play dirty, Griffin?” he challenged, a darkness coming into his gaze that made Clarke’s skin tingle.  “I’ll show you dirty.”_

_She squealed as, using her captured wrist as leverage, he yanked her over him._

Clarke stared him down, searching for a hint of joking in his eyes.  She found nothing but an intensity that rattled her to her bones.  She cleared her throat.  “Well, then, I had best be--”

“Clarke,” he said quietly, but assuredly.  She froze.

“What.”

“Are we going to talk?”

“About what, Bellamy?”

He was silent.

“That’s the whole point of this thing.  We don’t talk.”

“You gotta let someone in eventually.  It might as well be me.”

“Only in your wildest dreams, Blake,” she told the telephone pole.

It might have been her imagination, but she couldn’t help but think that she heard him say, “if only you knew” quietly under his breath as she stalked away, hands buried deep in the pockets of her uniform pants to try to disguise how hard they were trembling.

She could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her back as she rejoined the small crowd of first responders milling in front of the charred remains of the apartment building.  If Clarke thought hard enough, she could almost convince herself that the tears threatening to leak from her eyes were a result of the smoke.

 _Flash_.  Twelve year old Clarke being dragged, kicking and screaming, out of her childhood home by her father, leaving behind nothing but her father’s anguished promise that he loves her.

 _Flash_.  An uncomfortable dress.  Shaking hands with strangers who claimed to know her father yet didn’t remember the laugh lines etched into his cheeks.  Listening to a dry sermon that rambled on and on about her father’s ‘good heart’ and ‘charismatic soul’ but said nothing about his dry wit, infectious smile, or how he would hoist her over his shoulder and spin her, and spin her, and spin her, until she was dizzy with laughter and could hardly see straight.

 _Flash_.  Holding tight to her mother’s hand as they lowered an empty coffin into the ground.  An empty coffin because they couldn’t find a piece of Jake Griffin large enough to bury.

 _Flash_.  The remains of the Griffin family estate, nothing but rotted piles of blackened wood.  And a single photograph, buried amongst the wreckage, somehow magically saved.

 _Flash_.  The hot burn of tears dripping down Clarke’s cheeks as she traced a finger across the face of her dead father.

Clarke swiped at her eyes.  Now was hardly the time or the place.

“Griffin, you all right?” someone was asking, a note of concern in their voice.

She forced herself to nod.  Yes, she was fine, she was always fine.

“I’m heading out,” she said in answer.  “I’m exhausted.”

This was greeted by a chorus of goodbyes and small waves that she half-heartedly returned before turning and striking off back down the street.  Her apartment was just blocks away, a lucky coincidence, and the reason why she hadn’t caught a ride in the ambulance back to the hospital and her car.  She’d deal with that tomorrow.  Now all she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and stop feeling.

Clarke’s apartment building was blissfully empty, as she would have expected at one-thirty in the morning, except for the small patch of carpet outside her door, where Bellamy Blake was splayed as if he owned the place.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, stalking towards him.  “And how did you get in?”

“I called all your neighbors,” he responded, grinning.

She glared.

“Okay, not all of them.  Just that Stacey chick who keeps trying to grope me in the hallway.”

Clarke snorted.  “You like it.”

One of his eyebrows went up.  “Did I say I didn’t?”

She shook her head, hiding her small smile by pretending to need to search in her bag for her keys.  “You coming in?”

“No,” he said sarcastically.  “I just decided to sit here in front of your door for kicks.”

She pushed the door open and gestured for him to go first.  She pulled it shut behind her and flicked the locks, setting the deadbolt.

“What do you want, Bellamy?” she asked as she crossed into her bedroom and stripped off her uniform shirt, leaving her in just a white tank top.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t quite hide the way that his eyes lingered over the curve of her shoulder, the divot under her collarbone, the fading hickeys above the neckline of her shirt.

“You,” he said finally, eyes meeting hers.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He fell backwards onto the couch, throwing one arm over the back, and it twinged at Clarke’s heart how much he looked like he belonged there.  “You’re the one being ridiculous.”

“I am not.”

“Come on, Clarke,” he said earnestly, leaning forward.  “Talk to me.”

“If you run away screaming, I’m playing the “I Told You So’ card,” she replied stubbornly.

His grin made her a bit weak in the knees.  “If it makes you feel better.  But you’re not going to have to.  Now come sit down.”

She did, settling down on the couch carefully like any sudden movements might scare him off.  He didn’t touch her, but left that one arm dangling over the back of the couch.

“My father died in a fire when I was twelve,” she began slowly.  “He’s the reason that I decided to become a paramedic, first responder, whatever you want to call this.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes and finding nothing but concern.

“Oh, Clarke,” he said softly.

She scooted closer, so one of her folded up knees just brushed the edge of his thigh.  In response, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, anchoring her.

“Every time I hear that I helped save someone, the burden gets a little bit lighter,” she continued.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re Mr. Hotshot Firefighter and you basically forced your way into my apartment?” she offered with a dry smile.

“We both know that if you didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be.”

She smiled, ducking her head into his shoulder.  “Yeah,” she whispered, inhaling the musky smell of smoke.  For the first time in Clarke’s recent memory, the smell didn’t make her stomach churn and her palms sweat.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay the night?”   _Please?_   That unspoken word hovered between them and she knew that he’d heard it.

“Of course,” he whispered into her hair.  “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

 _A long time then_ , she thought.  And she knew she didn’t have to say that either.  Because they’d both known that it was true for longer than either would be willing to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)?


	3. On Top of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tinykhaleesi on Tumblr who sent me a number of options, one of which was Raven managing to fix up some abandoned theme park rides. So here we go!

Bellamy looked up at the hulking mass of metal and flaking paint, brow furrowed, the smallest of frowns on his lips.  “Are you sure this thing is safe?” he asked.

“Oh, come on, Blake!” Raven called from next to the control panel.  “Live a little!”  She grunted with the exertion of the next twist of the wrench in her hands, and the circular wheel shuddered into motion.  “Ha!” she yelled, thrusting her arms into the air.  “Am I awesome or am I awesome?”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile, watching the cars spin slowly.

“Reyes, how about you come over here and help out with this merry-go-round?” someone yelled from behind them and Raven, grinning, trudged over.

“You two have fun now,” she said, pausing to wink at Bellamy and Clarke, before moving on.

The look Bellamy shot her retreating back was inscrutable.  “Unbelievable,” he muttered before turning his attention back to the creaking wheel.

Clarke followed his gaze, eyes gliding along the metal arms, rusted by clearly still sturdy, dotted with lights had long since burned out.  As one of the cars trundled past them, Clarke’s gaze followed it, noting the faded number 12 printed on its side and the lettering that might have spelled “Virginia State Fair.”

They were meaningless things to Clarke.  No one had ever thought it necessary to explain the customs of those who had come before them.  She wondered why she had never thought to ask.  But this, she supposed, was a ferris wheel.  She’d seen one once in a book.  She hadn’t seen the appeal much then but now, with it in front of her, and her chosen partner beside her, and the kids they’d kept alive against all the odds spread out and laughing behind them, maybe Clarke Griffin could let herself just be for a little while.

She turned to Bellamy, a reckless fire alight in her veins. “ What do you say?” she asked, grinning.  “You want to go?”

He turned to her, eyes confused.  “Go where?”

She gestured to the ferris wheel, still gently turning.

He studied the carriages as they passed, eyes calculating.  They were open to the air and easy to clamber into, especially at its slow speed.

“Why the hell not,” he said finally and Clarke’s grin widened.

“Well, come on then.”

She hopped in carefully, scooting to the far side as Bellamy slithered in next to her.  Their thighs brushed briefly as he oriented himself and Clarke bit her lip.

The car swung gently as they rose higher and higher, and Clarke watched as they neared the top.  They weren’t quite level with the tops of the trees but they were close enough to see the unchanging green of the forest stretching out in all directions, save for the clearing they’d found the abandoned and slightly decrepit rides in a mere few days ago.

They were on the hunt for a new parcel of land that they could make their own after one too many petty fights had broken out over representation and who had control over what in Camp Jaha.  Some had suggested going back to the dropship and re-forming their old camp but the memories of burnt flesh and the Mountain Men’s invasion was too much for most of the remaining hundred, Clarke and Bellamy included.

And so they’d struck out with those who were willing to leave and try to find a new life for themselves.  The Grounder clans were in relative peace after the fall of the Mountain but no one was expecting that to last long. Word had it that negotiations in Polis were not going as well as any had hoped and Lexa was on the warpath.  He’d never say it but Clarke knew that Bellamy was relieved she hadn’t mentioned their former ally.

“Beautiful,” Clarke said as they rounded the top, smiling down at the clearing as their friends swarmed around a figure she recognized as Raven, working hard on getting the merry-go-round working just the same.

“Yeah,” Bellamy replied, a bit distant, as the ride shuddered to a halt.

In a simultaneous movement, Clarke and Bellamy leaned over to see Octavia, a shit-eating grin plastered across her face, salute the two of them.  “I think our co-leaders need a bit of a break, don’t you?” she yelled up.  “Stop thinking for a while and enjoy the view!”

Bellamy shook his head and leaned back, his knees falling apart just so that one of them barely brushed the outside of Clarke’s thigh.  She waited with bated breath but neither of them moved.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” he asked, head tilted just slightly to the side.

Clarke looked at him, studied that profile she knew better than her own, the tan skin that had been only darkened by the long East Coast summer, the freckles that had appeared across the bridge of his nose, and the wild mess of black curls that he wouldn’t let anyone touch but her, and only when they got so long he could barely see.

She fought against her smile. “I had my hopes.”

He grinned.  “Princess always knew best,” he mused.  “Didn’t she?”

There was still a small twinge in her heart whenever he called her that, that small piece of her heart that would never truly let go of Finn.  But time and circumstance healed all wounds, and Bellamy had resolutely claimed the nickname as his own in the months after her return from self-imposed exile.

“I like to think so,” she replied softly.

He glanced over and their eyes met.  “We never would have made it here without you.”

“Or without you.”

He chuckled.  “You would have made it work.  You Griffins are a stout sort.”

She laughed but didn’t say anything.  No other words were needed.

“We kept them safe,” she said after a long silence.  “Against all the odds.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod.  “Yeah,” he replied, just as softly.

They reached for each other at the same time, in a movement so smooth and synchronous it could have been the hundredth time, even though it was just their first.  As their fingers twined together in the smallest of spaces between their bodies, Clarke felt as though the last of her tension, worry, and fear drained out of her.

“We did good here, princess,” Bellamy told the open air and Clarke smiled.

Against all the odds, they’d made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)


	4. So Zeus and the Mad Hatter Walk Into a Bar...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From officialcatheronie/protectlydiamartin2k15 on Tumblr: "Ok but bellarke at a Halloween party, both slightly tipsy, smushed too close together on a crowded couch and a drunk friend dares them to kiss, and they've had worse idea before, so why not?"

Clarke had no idea how she had gotten here.  With a (probably) drunk Zeus on one side of her and a bored looking Persephone on the other, on a beer-stained couch in someone’s basement, fake cobwebs tickling the back of her neck.

Okay, let’s back up a little.

Raven had been begging Clarke to go to this Halloween party with her for weeks and finally, Clarke relented, though that may have had more to do with Raven stealing all of her textbooks and refusing to give them back until Clarke agreed.

So Clarke went to the fabric store and Party City and started putting together a Mad Hatter costume to go with Raven’s Alice and didn’t complain.

She figured it wouldn’t be that bad of an event.  She knew a few who were going other than Raven and she was planning on spending most of it pleasantly tipsy and going home early so she could still catch Sleepy Hollow when it aired at eleven.

By 9:30 Clarke was drunk, dancing with some guy she didn’t know, and having a lot more fun than she thought she could have.  He was a terrible dancer and kind of spit when he talked but she was floating and spinning and damn, she’d done a great job on this costume.

None of that explained how she’d ended up on this couch though and honestly she was pretty sure that trying to remember would hurt her head more than it did already.  So instead she just leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes, and willed for the half-naked and definitely attractive man next to her to get up and leave since she definitely wasn’t capable.

“Bell, I hate this costume,” Persephone said.

“You lost the bet, O,” Zeus replied tiredly.

“It itches.”

A long sigh but no response.  The girl elbowed Clarke painfully in the ribs as she shifted.

“Shit, sorry,” she muttered.  “Are you okay?”

Clarke cracked open one eye and tried to smile.  “Fine.  Thanks.”

“I’m Octavia.”

Clarke turned her head, sending a shooting pain through her head –  _Jesus_ , had she fallen over and cracked her head or something? – to find the girl was holding out a hand and fucking  _beaming_  at her like this was some sort of work function.

Clarke extricated her own hand from where it was smashed between her and Zeus and shook the girl’s delicately.

“Clarke.”

“Raven’s friend?”

Clarke squinted.  “Yeah.  You know her?”

Persephone – Octavia – shook her head.  “No, but my brother does.  They had a class together or something.  Right, Bell?”

Zeus grunted.

“That’s Bellamy,” Octavia offered.  “He’s not very friendly.”

Clarke smiled.  “Well, I’m usually better but I’m  _really_  drunk.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Octavia’s brother offered.  “That was quite the show you were giving everyone.”

“Until you cracked your head on the chandelier,” Octavia finished.

Bellamy nodded.

Clarke groaned.  That explained it.  She was never getting drunk again.

“Water?”

Octavia was still grinning but there was an unopened bottle of cold water in her hand now and Clarke was pretty sure she’d never wanted anything more.

“So what–”

Clarke tuned her out, uncracking the bottle and taking a long gulp.  Next to her, she felt more than heard Bellamy laugh.

“What’s your problem?” she growled.

“Nothing, nothing,” he protested, smile in his voice.  “Nice costume is all.”

Another long drag on the water bottle.  “Thank you.  I made it myself.”

“Impressive.”

“Does your sister ever stop talking?”

He laughed.  “No.”

She let her head drop back again.  “Fabulous.”

Clarke told herself that she was going to get off the couch and go find Raven but forty minutes later she was still there, on her second bottle of water and significantly less drunk.

Also engaged in a very violent discussion over literary adaptations of Greek myths with Bellamy, but that wasn’t really important.

Octavia had left and wandered back with some guy who looked like he was about seven feet tall and built like a semi-truck, dressed in something that involved no shirt and a very small pair of shorts.  Clarke guessed that he hadn’t had a whole lot to do with that costume decision.  Octavia had introduced him as Lincoln then started making out with him against a wall much to Bellamy’s disgust.

“I don’t  _care_  how many times the author read  _The Odyssey_ , Clarke!” Bellamy was yelling.  “It’ll never be the same!”

She probably should have had an answer for that.  But his head was cocked at just the right angle and there was just enough of a flush to his cheeks from the argument and he still was wearing like half a shirt (if that’s what you even wanted to call that scrap of fabric) and she couldn’t stop staring at his eyes and  _fuck_  why did this always happen.  Especially when he was looking at her  _like that_.

“Clarke?”

She mentally slapped herself.

“Yes?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Octavia yelled, probably having momentarily detached herself from Lincoln.

They both turned to her, shocked at the interruption.  Apparently he’d also forgotten that there were other people around.

“Just kiss her, Bell, before we all throw up.”

Bellamy looked affronted.  “You’re one to ta–”

He grunted as Clarke practically threw herself into his lap, fastening her lips to his.  His response was immediate, one hand weaving into her hair as the other splayed across her back.

When they broke for air, he gasped out, “this discussion isn’t over.”

Clarke stared at him for a minute before managing, “later.”

He nodded and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Make my day/week/month/year and support me on Patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/user?u=2371666&ty=h)


	5. Fright Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From goldenheadfreckledheart on Tumblr: "SPOOPY PROMPT: Bellamy and Clarke work at six flags fright fest and they compete to see who can scare the most people."

Clarke Griffin fucking loved working Fright Night.

In fact, it was that short, barely a month long stretch that had made her decide to apply to work at Six Flags in the first place.  Even the unbearingly long, hot, and filled with tourists months of the summer when she had Halloween to look forward to.  She’d always loved scaring the crap out of people and getting paid to do it was just an added bonus.

Spirits were running high.  It was 8 PM, just before the second and more brutal shift of “scarers” were set to be released into the park and Clarke was sitting in makeup, having the finishing touches on her own look done.  There were four day and counting until Halloween itself and Clarke couldn’t wait.

“Looking good, Griffin,” smirked an all too familiar voice from behind her.

Clarke looked up from her phone and into the mirror, frowning.  “I thought you weren’t working tonight.”

“Harper called in sick.  She’s got the flu or some shit.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  Her work place nemesis, Bellamy Blake, recognizable even under inches of heavy stage makeup by his trademark mop of black curls and “I’m all that” posture, smirked back.

And, okay, maybe Clarke was a little more familiar with the biceps bulging under his long sleeved black shirt than she wanted to let on.  It wasn’t her fault that they were right there, was it?

“What do you want?” she growled.

“Just to say hi to my partner for the evening.”

Clarke was so used to ignoring 95% of what Bellamy and the words flowed out of him so smoothly that it took her a long moment to register what he’d actually said.

“I’m sorry but  _what_?” She demanded.

She could hear the grin in his voice as he answered, “Positions got shifted around.  It’s just you and me in our own little corner of the District tonight, princess.”

He strolled away, hands shoved deep into his pockets,  _whistling_ , leaving Clarke a seething ball of rage in the makeup chair.

Just them, huh?  Oh, she’d be showing him.

 

The Demon District was one of Six Flags New England’s greatest Fright Fest achievements.  It was a redressed section of the park used exclusively as a scaring ground during the Halloween festivities presented through promotional materials as an abandoned industrial district teeming with creepy.

Clarke loved it.  There was something magical about the run-downness of the place, all the kitschy and fake details hidden by the cover of night, acting like a cloak, or a smoothing edge to tamp down all the rough pieces.

Tonight, however, might mark the first time that Clarke didn’t enjoy herself working.

“Tell me again why they put us out here together?” Clarke groused, under her breath, not intending for Bellamy, who was much much too close to her, to hear.

He didn’t answer, just chuckled.

The sound made her want to hit him more than she usually did.

“I could work better on my own than I could with you,” she added.

“You know the rules, princess, no one ever works on their own.  Unless you want to get decked by some crazy patron in which case, I can show myself out.”

She punched him.  He just grinned wider.

“You know what would be real  _fun_ , princess?”

“Me shoving you off a cliff?”

“Unfortunately, there aren’t any around here or I’d–”

“Oh, I’d find one,” she muttered.

“Though your bloodlust is slightly inspiring I also find it frightening.  So if you could just maybe not?”

“Then could you  _shut up_?”

“Doubtful.”

“Jesus.”

“I was proposing something fun.”

“I don’t think you understand the meaning of the word.”

“No, I think that’s you, actually.”

She rounded on him, finally letting loose the anger she’d been trying to control all evening.

“ _What is your problem?_ ”

He looked affronted.  “My problem?  My problem?  You’re the one yelling at me for no apparent reason.”  He paused, cocking his head, listening.  “Patrons coming.  Scary face on, Griffin.  Oh, wait, you’ve already got it.”

He dodged her swing and scurried out of sight, into the shadow of a doorway.

Cursing under her breath, Clarke did the same farther down the street.

She had to admit it to herself, she thought, as Bellamy rocketed out of the doorway, scaring the crap out of the group of girls wandering down the street in a close-knit group, driving them just in the right direction for Clarke to get the one-up on them, they did work well as a team.

“What were you saying about fun?” she asked him when they reunited in the center of the street after the group of sprinted off, screaming their heads off.

He turned to her, grinning.  “You came around, huh?”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” she said stoutly.  “What’s the idea?”

“How about a good dose of healthy competition?”

“You mean…”

“Whoever scares the most people by the end of the night wins.”  He shook back his sleeve to check his watch.  “We got another four hours.  Should be able to do a healthy bit of damage, don’t you think?”

She grinned.  “What do we get if we win?”

“Loser buys the winner dinner.”

The smile faded.  “Dinner?  What?”

He shoved her shoulder playfully.  “Come on, Griffin, dinner.  You know, what normal people do?”

She spluttered.  “Like a date?”

A wide grin.  “Only if you want it to be.”

He strode off down the street again, casting one last look back at her.  She watched him go, eyes narrowed.

“Fine!” she yelled after him.  “But I’m an expensive date!”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less!” he called back.

She had to consciously tell herself to wipe the stupid grin off her face.  After all, this was just Bellamy.  Her nemesis.  Right.  Her nemesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr!](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Make my week and support me on Patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/user?u=2371666&ty=h)


	6. Untitled Halloween Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the ever lovely kay-emm-gee on Tumblr: "Bellarke + coworkers + Halloween. If you want more detail (but feel free to ignore): maybe Clarke (secretly?) covers Bellamy's shift so he can go trick-or-treating with his niece/nephew."

“Griffin, I need you to take my shift on Saturday.”

Clarke dropped the massive pile of folders she was in the middle of filing and glared.

“Well, Blake, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

She rolled her eyes and turned to find Bellamy leaning against the reception desk, arms crossed.

“It doesn’t make a difference.  I’m not taking your shift.”

“Please?”

Clarke fake stumbled, clapping a hand to her chest.  “Did  _Bellamy Blake_  just say  _please?”_

 _“_ This isn’t kindergarten, Griffin,” he snarled back.

“Oh, are you sure about that?  Because your coming in here and yelling at me isn’t really going to make me want to do shit for you.”

He looked down, shoved his hands in his pockets, bit his lip.

“Okay, fine, here’s the thing.”

She picked up the files and went back to sorting.

“I promised my sister I’d take her kid trick or treating and my shift interferes.”  He said this in a rush so quickly that Clarke misses half of it and thinks she heard the other half wrong.  But his expression was somewhere between hopeful and waiting for the joke and she dropped the files again, less neatly this time so they slid across the desk.

“Let me get this straight.  You want me to take your shift on a weekend, which I  _never do_ by the way, just so you can take your nephew trick or treating?”

He shrugged noncommittally.  “Yes.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you just say that from the beginning?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You could have just said, ‘hey, Clarke, I’m taking my nephew trick or treating on Saturday can you please cover my shift?’ and I would have said ‘sure, Bellamy’ and you would have left and I would have been done filing by now.  And instead you just came in here and yelled at me.”

Bellamy gaped, mouth opening and closing with nothing coming out.

“Oh,” he finally managed.

“I’ll take your shift, now get out.”

He was so stunned looking that he almost walks into the door frame on the way out.

“Oh, and Bellamy?”

He turned.  She smiled down at the stack of files.

“As compensation for my trouble I want pictures.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Fine.”

The next Monday, when Clarke received an email from B. Blake with no subject line and a bunch of attachments, she practically threw herself into her chair, hand already on the mouse.

His sister’s kid looked almost exactly like him but with lighter skin and shorter hair.  They’re both grinning, the little boy wearing a gladiator outfit and Bellamy dressed as lion, holding up a giant bucket of candy.  Clarke smiled at the screen.

“So, Griffin,” she heard from the doorway.

She swiveled in her chair.  “Nice mane.”

Bellamy tried and failed to hide his grin.  “Thanks.”

“What do you want?”

“To ask you if you wanted to go to dinner.  With me.  Tomorrow.”

“Only if you wear the tail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Make my week and support me on Patreon!]()


	7. The Best Halloween Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my eternal love svnsbaks on Tumblr: "bellarke as parents who make super duper amazing costumes for their kids; one year their is Hermione and a dobby swaddled in blankets, greek heroes and their vicious beautiful goodness complete with armor and snake hair, etc etc the costumes are up to you!"

“Bellamy!”

Bellamy swore, spit out the probably fifteen hundred bobby pins in his mouth and twisted a lock of his daughter’s hair (golden just like her mother’s) around his fist.

“I’m a bit busy here, Clarke!”

“Save your sass, Blake, I need you!”

“Well, I’m a bit busy with that ridiculous hairstyle you thought up for Andy!”

In the mirror, Bellamy watched as Andromeda Blake’s, Andy for short, lips twisted into a smile.

“I told you and Mom you should start earlier this year,” she chastised, fixing him in a look that was much too wise for her ten years.

“And you, little lady, don’t call the shots,” he told her, sliding another bobby pin into a curl, cementing in one of the plastic snakes sitting on the counter.

“Tonight, you don’t get to call me that.  I’m  _Medusa.”_

Bellamy chuckled.  “All right, all right.”

“Bell?”

He turned.  Clarke, hair piled up in a messy bun, paint streaked across one cheek, face flushed, was leaning against the door frame.

“What do you need?” he asked softly, twisting another strand of their daughter’s hair.

“Do you have the mock ups for Jason’s makeup?  I can’t find them.”

“Clarke,” he sighed.

She rolled her arms.  “Don’t start with me.  You forgot to buy the snakes until three hours ago.”

Bellamy grinned at her and gestured to their daughter’s half-done hair.  “And yet...”  He quirked an eyebrow.

She pushed his shoulder, grinning and Bellamy was struck breathless.  Fifteen years of marriage and seventeen years together and she just looked as beautiful as the first day he ever saw her, across the kitchen at Octavia’s fifteenth birthday party.

“Mom?  Dad?  Are you going to do my makeup?”

Seven-year old Jason was hovering in the background, looking unsure.

“They will, Jase, they’re just being all gross and lovey-dovey again,” Andy said disdainfully, grinning at her parents in the mirror.

Clarke flashed Bellamy a smile and turned back to him.  “Yeah, honey, I’m just trying to figure out where your dad but the mock ups for your makeup.”

“Oh, right, blame it on me,” he called after her retreating back.

She grinned over her shoulder then disappeared around the corner into the kitchen after their son.

“You and Mom are gross,” Andy complained, tilting her head to the side.  “And this snake is loose.”  She pointed.

Bellamy fixed it in silence, watching as his daughter’s brown eyes followed his movements.

With the exception of the eyes, his eyes, Andy was all Clarke--bossy and self-assured but in the best possible way.  She was going to kick some ass one day and Bellamy couldn’t wait to see it happen.

“One day you might find someone who makes you as happy as your mom makes me,” he told her, starting in on the other half of her hair.  “And  _then_  you and I will revisit this conversation.”  He nudged her shoulder and she grinned, despite herself.

“Might?” she asked.

He nodded.  “Either way, whatever makes you happy will make your mom and I happy.”

She smiled.  “You’re the best, Dad.”

He froze, met his daughter’s bright eyes in the mirror.  “Hold that thought while I go get a tape recorder. Will you say that again?  So when you’re a full-fledged teenager slamming doors and yelling about how much you just want to ‘live your own life’ I can play it to myself and hope it’ll get better?”

“ _Dad!”_

He laughed.  “Okay, okay.”

“I found it!” Clarke yelled from the other room.

“I never doubted you, honey!” he called back and shook his head.

“Take advantage of the fact that your brother chose to be a mime,” he told Andy, opening the last bobby pin and sticking it between his teeth.  “You can tell him to shut up and we can’t yell at you.”

Andy smiled again.

“But  _politely_ ,” he added.  “Okay?”

“Oookay.”

“Don’t sass me.”  Her gaze was challenging.  “Actually, how about we just pretend I never said that.”

He studied her hair.  “Okay, hair’s done, you ready to be painted green?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay...go put your costume on and we’ll finish up.”

She bolted out of the room, skidding around the corner and Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile.

Fifteen minutes later, Bellamy was brushing on the last of their daughter’s makeup when the doorbell rang.

“Auntie O, Auntie O!” Jason was chanting from the foyer as Clarke opened the door.

Bellamy chuckled and surveyed his work.  “Okay, sweetie, you’re good to go.”

She rocketed off the bench and into the foyer, hugging Octavia carefully.  Lincoln hovered in the background, smiling to himself, holding the hand of their four year old son, Caleb, dressed as a fireman.

Bellamy kissed his sister’s cheek and whispered, “thanks for being willing to take them out.”

She threw him a knowing look.  “Of course.  You and Clarke deserve some...alone time.”  She waggled her eyebrows.

Bellamy resisted the urge to throw her out the door.

“You ready, kids?” he asked louder.  “Auntie O just can’t wait to get going,  _right?”_

 _“_ Right,” she affirmed, still grinning.  “Come on, guys.”

Clarke sidled up to his side and he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her in tighter.

“Have fun, kids!” Clarke called after them as they walked down the front walk.  “And don’t scratch your face too much, you’ll ruin the--”

“They know, princess,” Bellamy whispered into her ear.

She bit her lip.

“They’ll be fine.”

“This is just the first year we didn’t take them ourselves,” she worried.

“They’ll be  _fine_ ,” he repeated and she smiled grudgingly.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now,” he said, spinning her around and closing the door in one movement.  “It’s just you and me.  For  _hours.”_

And that answering grin?  Yeah, he knew that one like the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr?](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)


	8. May The Best Intern Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a giveaway fic for my real life bae biotictrash on Tumblr who doesn’t watch the 100 or ship bellarke but by some cosmic twist of fate won the giveaway anyway and wanted something with Jeff Goldblum. So here we are.

“Griffin!”

Clarke spun on her heel, barely avoided sloshing the three coffees she’d miraculously managed to balance.

Anya, the exceptionally aggressive first assistant producer, was bearing down on her with a clipboard, wearing that expression that meant someone was going to regret something.

Clarke hoped it wasn’t her.

“Yes?” she asked, holding out Anya’s venti half-caf, 1%, 130 degree soy latte with two and a half pumps of caramel (she’d been in the Starbucks line for what felt like three hours just so the cashier would actually write the whole thing down.  Yeah, sure, Mom, she just  _loved_  being a PA).

“Collins fucked up again so I fired him.”

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief.  She was safe.

“So I’m putting you on the big guy.”

Clarke nearly dropped the two remaining coffees.

“I-what?”

“You want to keep your job, Griffin?”

“Yes?”

“Then get your ass to the soundstage.  You’re on a schedule.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and Griffin?  Next time when I say 130 degrees.  I want 130, not 125.”

Clarke swallowed.  “Yes, Anya.”

“Now get.”

Clarke got.

She hadn’t come to LA with dreams of working in production with false dreams and hopes like most.  She knew that you started off at the bottom, being stepped on by your superiors, sometimes literally (she didn’t want to talk about it, okay?) but she had dreams and a $200,000 media arts production degree under her belt that she wasn’t going to let go to waste.  This was what she told herself as she crossed the lot to the soundstage they were shooting on.

It was a commercial with some famous person whose name Clarke hadn’t been told.  She guessed she wasn’t important enough.  But now she was being sent to dote on ‘the big guy’ so she guessed she’d be finding out.

Stage 8 was bustling with activity.  It was lunchtime and someone had brought out a giant plate of sandwiches.  She passed off the last two coffees to another passing intern with directions as to who they were supposed to go to, and opened the door.

“Clarke!  Hey, there you are.  Anya said you were on your way over.  You ready?”

The speaker was a guy named Jackson who Clarke had met only occasionally.  She wasn’t exactly sure what his job was but he did something important.  Anya didn’t yell at him like she yelled at everyone else.

“Here I am,” she said, smiling.

“You and Blake are on the star,” he said, jerking a finger at a moody looking guy with dark hair, dressed in nice jeans and a button down, slouched against the wall.  “He’s fired the last three so be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, sir,” Clarke said.

“Blake!” Jackson yelled.  “You and Clarke here are on.  Get your asses in gear.”

His walkie crackled and he yanked it to his lips, striding away, muttering something angry.

“I’m Bellamy,” the other guy said, having pushed away from the wall and holding out a hand.  “Pleasure.”

“Clarke,” she replied, shaking his hand.  “You ready for this?”

He offered her a rakish smile that, under different circumstances, would have made her knees a bit weak.  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

 

Bellamy Blake was insufferable.

It only took Clarke twenty minutes to figure that out, and another ten to start planning how she was going to murder him.

He’d “accidentally” slammed three doors in her face, spilled hot water all over, and  _then had the gall_  to pretend it was all her fault.

Clarke was seething.  Because like hell if she was getting fired because of some asswipe who wore designer flannel.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t designer but it made hating him easier.

That’s what she told herself as she carefully stopped and turned just at the right angle to kind of trip him over her knee.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” she said, fighting back her smile.

When he straightened, his face was like murder.  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Just like you, I’d imagine,” she shot back.

This time his smile was all teeth.  “We’ll see about that.”

She felt one her eyebrows go up.  “I suppose we will.”

 

After that it was a shit show.

If she ever made it in this business, Clarke decided, as she chased Bellamy down the lot, making a desperate grab for the coffee he was holding above her head (genetics had given him an unfair advantage in that department) she was going to executive produce a reality show about warring PAs.

That would be  _great_  TV.

She took advantage of when he had to stop to open the door to the soundstage to yank him back, pull him back, and grab the coffee out of his hand.  She might have shoved him a little bit too hard but sue her if she wanted a bit of a head start.

She skidded to a stop in front of the star’s chair, panting but holding the coffee, not a single drop spilled.

“Sir,” she managed.  “Here’s your coffee.”

“Thank you, Clarke.”

His glory days (and his black leather jacket) might have been decades behind him, but there was still some kind of regal grace to the way that Jeff Goldlbum accepted his grande cappuccino.

“I paid for that,” Bellamy grumbled.

Clarke stomped on his foot.  And smiled.

“Now if you wouldn’t mind, my dry cleaning needs to be picked up.”

That time Clarke made it out the door first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Make my month and support me on Patreon!](https://www.patreon.com/user?u=2371666&ty=h)


	9. Only the Beautiful Die Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From anonymous on Tumblr: “hey thanks for literally saving my life by pushing me out of the way of that car, but now you’re yelling at me bc i was reading and walking and you said i’m too cute to die” au bellarke w/ bell being the one reading

Clarke was having a perfectly good morning.  For once, she’d managed to get out of bed on time and had not struggled to put together a matching outfit.  There had been no line at the coffee shop around the corner from her apartment and the stars must have been aligned in her favor because they had remembered to put only three and a half pumps of vanilla in her latte as opposed to the usual five.

She was standing at the condiment bar grabbing napkins for her turkey and egg bagel, looking out the window at what was shaping up to be a beautiful day and she sighed.

The thing was, Clarke never felt this good in the morning.  She wasn’t late, her boss hadn’t emergency texted her about his dry cleaning being done incorrectly again and how she needed to fix it.  Clarke’s mornings never went this well and that meant that something terrible was going to happen.

The light across the street turned red as Clarke slipped her sandwich into her purse, wrapped in napkins to keep the grease at bay.  She looked down for a second to snap a lid onto her coffee and started for the door.

She had just stepped out onto the sidewalk when she saw him.

Dark curls against olive skin, stupid hipster-framed glasses over brown eyes, long fingers wrapped around the spine of a book.  Stepping out into the middle of the street just as the traffic light blinked back to green.

If Raven was there, she’d tell Clarke she’d missed her calling being the over-worked and too stressed executive assistant of a busy marketing executive.  She’d laugh and tell her that she should have made herself a cape and cowl and prowled the streets fighting crime and saving cats from trees instead.

But Clarke didn’t think about any of this in the moment.  Instead, she flung herself the few feet to the curb, her perfect latte abandoned, puddle of liquid spreading across the sidewalk.

She had meant to just fist a hand in the back of his sweatshirt and pull but somehow she’d misjudged the distance between them and ended up bulldozing into him instead.  In a fit of panic, she grabbed for anything to keep herself up and ended up with an arm locked around the stranger’s throat instead as together they tumbled to the sidewalk.

Her landing was remarkably soft but she still felt a little dazed and it took a few seconds of blinking before she realized she’s fallen on top of the stranger, her arm still looped around his neck, probably squeezing this side of too hard.  He was warm and smelled nice, she noted, before she pulled herself back together.

And then she realized that she was quite literally lying _on top of a strange man_  she had just saved from being run over and she scrambled away.  Her sandwich was also a lost cause, smashed by someone’s foot, lying forlornly a foot away from her.  She regarded it sadly and then checked her watch.

She was late.

And the stranger was pushing himself up, grumbling something unintelligible but angry sounding.  He fumbled for his glasses, which were remarkably unharmed and jammed them on his face, turning to glare at her.  His hands were scraped up a bit from the landing and there was dust in his hair but otherwise he looked okay.  Better than if he’d been smashed into a pancake on the street anyway.

“What the _fuck_  do you think you were doing?” The words were out of her mouth before she’d even realized she’d opened her mouth.

He shoved himself to his feet and brushed off his shirt.  Her stomach twisted a little at the sight of the gravel scrapes across his knuckles.

“I was just trying to cross the street!  Before some psycho woman goddamn _tackled_  me!”

His voice was deep and washed over her skin like something soft and intimate.  Clarke felt her cheeks heat.

“You walked into traffic!  What was I supposed to do?  Let someone run you over?” She gestured wildly at the traffic light, which was back to red again.  The crosswalk signal for the other side of the street chirped at them.

“I was--”

“Looking where you were going?” she retorted.  “Right.”  She swooped down to pick up the book he’d dropped when she plowed into him and studied the cover.  It was a heavy hardcover, the title written in a language she didn’t recognize.  “This looks interesting,” she said lamely as she handed it back.

He took it cautiously and inspected the cover, looking for damage probably.  His eyebrows were knit together over the chunky frames of his glasses.  “It is,” he said quietly and slid it under his arm.

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Clarke’s cheeks burned redder.

“Thanks, I guess,” he muttered finally, running a hand through his hair.  Clarke followed the movement with her eyes and tried not to be too obvious about it.  Something in his gaze told her she’d failed.

She shrugged.  “Call it my karma points for the day.”

He cracked a small smile.

“Sorry I tackled you?”

“I’m guessing you’re new at this whole saving idiotic strangers from oncoming traffic thing, huh?”

She bristled for a minute before she caught the teasing glint in his eye.

She shrugged again.  “You’re much too pretty to be splattered all over the sidewalk.”

There was an appraising look in his eye now. “Only the beautiful die young?” he suggested.

“Something like that.”

“You’re not new to complimenting random strangers on the street though, are you?”

“Blame it on my barren love life.”

He grinned and she felt her stomach do a neat backflip.

“I”m Bellamy,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Clarke.”

 

Clarke’s boss had not been impressed with her being late to work, even after she’d attempted to explain that she’d saved a beautiful stranger from being run over.

“Keep that shit to your own time,” he’d told her before he dumped his calendar on her desk and retreated into his office.

Raven grinned at her from across the aisle.  “He was hot?” she stage-whispered and Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Idiotic hipsters who walk into traffic because they’re too distracted by weird books in foreign language are the furthest thing from my type,” Clarke had shot back.  She was angry because when she’d gone back into the coffee shop to get a replacement latte they’d made it wrong.  Two pumps of vanilla.

“So you’re not going to see him again?” Raven asked again when she ambushed Clarke by the copy machine.

Clarke just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Well, then if you see him again, give him my number.  I’ve been going through a dry spell.”

“I am not your pimp,” Clarke snapped back.  “You can find your own hook ups.”

Raven just grinned and shoved a pile of papers into the feed tray to scan.

 

But Clarke did see Bellamy again, the next morning when she pushed open the door to the coffee shop, late and angry.

He was sitting at one of the tables by the front door, scrolling on his phone but looked up when the bells jangled.

She was momentarily distracted by his bright smile but her eyes quickly slid to the table where, next to his elbow, there were two paper cups and a wrapped sandwich.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Three and a half pump vanilla whole milk latte and a turkey and egg sandwich, right?” he asked, uncertainty coloring his voice.

Clarke’s eyes flicked back to the cups.  Her stomach did another freestyle gymnastics routine.

“Are you stalking me now?” she asked, but there was no heat in her voice.

“I decided that walking out into traffic a second time would look too desperate,” he replied, deadpan and she laughed.

“You’re right.  My boss reamed me yesterday for being a good samaritan.  Even the karma isn’t worth doing it again.”

He held the latte out to her. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Thanks for the coffee.”

“I figured I owed you.  For saving my life and all.”

She accepted the cup and took a sip.  She wasn’t surprised that it was perfect.

“I would stay and ream you out for being an idiot who walks into traffic again, but I’m late for work.”

“Alas,” he said around a grin.  “Next time.”

Something in her squeezed at the thought of a next time.

 

When she put the cup down on her desk at work fifteen minutes later, the sleeve slid down, revealing a neatly printed ten digits.  She grinned stupidly at them for a minute before picking up her phone.

_Desperate_ , she texted.

The response came seconds later.   _You’re not the only one with a barren love life_

_So you figured that picking up the girl who tackled you out of traffic was a good idea?_

_Seemed like a better option than the one that pushed me_

She fought back her laugh.

_And he’s witty._

She got only a winking emoji as a response.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

_You like Indian food?_ she typed out and waited.

_Was that meant to imply that somewhere out there there is someone who doesn’t?_

A second text came  a few seconds later.   _I meant to say yes._

_Tomorrow?_

_I was going to say tonight,_  came his reply followed by,  _but I guess someone has to put the brakes on in this relationship.  I always promised my mom I wouldn’t have a shotgun wedding._

She was grinning as she typed back, t _onight’s great.  6:30?_

_It’s a date_ , her phone chirped back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang with me on [Tumblr!](http://andrevvminyard.tumblr.com)


	10. Addicted To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From anonymous on Tumblr: "Clarke and Bellamy get paired up in a buddy system at a house party but they obvs don't get on, and then angsty stuff ensues"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got really raunchy for me (sorry not sorry) and I'd absolutely be lying if I said I didn't write 3/4 of this to I Need a Hero from the Shrek 2 soundtrack so let that inform your reading.

None of this would have been a problem if Octavia hadn’t gone and gotten herself a boyfriend.  Of this, Bellamy was sure.

Or really, he could have just said no.  Bellamy really like the word no.  He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t refused to come when Octavia had told him about this house party.  He hated house parties and he hated drunk undergrads.

But most importantly, he hated Clarke Griffin.

Clarke also liked the word no.  Especially when she could say it to him.

“This is fucking dumb,” Clarke grumbled as she squeezed herself farther into the bowels of the couch.  Their thighs were touching and Bellamy was trying very very hard to pretend he didn’t like the heat of her leg against his through his jeans and her tights.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” he said.

“I don’t give a shit,” came her reply.

He scowled at her and she stuck her tongue out.

“Where’s your usual partner in crime?” he asked, eyes searching for the trademark dark and glossy ponytail of Clarke and Octavia’s second roommate.

“Mechanical engineering project gone wrong,” Clarke replied.

He grunted in response.

“Where’s yours?”

“On a date.”

“Finally,” Clarke grumbled.

Bellamy cracked a smile.  If there was one thing that they agreed on, it was the inevitable end to Miller and Monty’s outrageous sexual tension.

“Then your sister owes me twenty bucks.”

“She’s right there,” Bellamy said, pointing to Octavia in the crowd, where she was sandwiched up against the new boyfriend, her arms around his neck.

“I’m not interrupting that.”

“Good choice.”  He took a sip from his beer.

“I thought you didn’t do undergrad parties,” Clarke said after a long pause.

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you here making my life miserable?”

“For the record, I’m also making my own life miserable,” he pointed out.

She fought back a smile.  He was rewarded for it with a sharp smack to the chest.

“I figured I’d give it a shot.  Their beer doesn’t suck at least.”

Clarke took a sip of her own and nodded.  “A valid point.”

“I’ve never been one to turn down free alcohol.”

“True.”

“I don’t like your tone, Griffin.”

She just grinned at him, something dark and predatory that reminded Bellamy of just why he hated Clarke Griffin.

He hated the way her eyes sparkled, the way they pulled you in with no hope of escape.  He hated the porcelain ivory of her skin, almost translucent enough to see her veins through at her wrists.  He hated her hair, golden blonde and soft-looking, not that he’d ever know.  His fingers itched to touch but he’d never let himself.  Not that she’d ever let him if he tried.

He hated her laugh, the few times he’d heard it.  Or rather, he hated how it made his stomach twist itself into knots, how he ached to hear it again and again.

Yeah.  Bellamy hated Clarke Griffin.  But not for any of the reasons he should have.

“I don’t even need a buddy,” Clarke grumbled.  “I didn’t come to get drunk.”

“Then by all means,” he said, gesturing out into the crowd.  “Leave me here to rot.”

“You’d do that even with me here,” she snapped back but it lacked any of its usual heat.  She was distracted by something, or _someone_  out in the crowd.

His eyes followed her gaze to a leggy girl he thought he recognized from the student center, pressed up close to a brunette.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clarke take a long drag from her bottle.  Then another.  Another.

“You need a new one of those?” he asked, only half-joking.

Her eyebrows went up before she realized her meant the drink.

“No,” she said quickly.  “No, I’m fine.”

But her eyes returned to the two girls, who had ingratiated themselves back into the crowd.

“Failed conquest?” Bellamy asked, trying for sarcastic and falling short.

“You could say that.”  A pause.  “Not that your love life has been anything to brag about.”

He snorted.

“You try grad school, working three jobs, and a relationship and see where it gets you.”  He paused for dramatic effect.  “Oh, _that’s right_ , princess Griffin wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Her eyes were stormy when she turned back to him.  He flashed her a grin.

“What, not going to defend yourself?  I’m not surprised.”

“You’re hardly worth it,” she replied icily.  Bellamy just smiled into his beer.

“I’m sorry about–” he gestured out into the crowd.  He knew she’d understand what he meant.

She didn’t respond which was a win, he guessed.  It meant she didn’t have anything mean to say.

Bellamy hated this.  He hated sitting this close to Clarke, touching her just barely but not allowed to, her radiating quiet rage next to him, fingers clenched so tight around the neck of the bottle that he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d broken it.  He usually relished the tiptoeing they did around each other, but not today.

“Dance with me,” he said suddenly and she turned to him, eyes wide, anger knocked clear out of her.

“What?”

“You heard me.  Dance with me.”

“Why?”

He rolled his eyes and knocked back the rest of his beer.  “Because this is a party.  And that’s what people do at parties?”

There was something hard and heady pulsing out of the speakers.  Bellamy couldn’t make out the words but it screamed of sensuality and dark alleys and a stranger’s hands in your hair.

And Clarke Griffin was staring at him like she wanted to eat him.

Bellamy swallowed thickly and couldn’t say he minded.

He stared back, challenging.  She stood up first, skirt swirling around her legs, a few inches taller than he was used to in heels.

She quirked an eyebrow.  “You going to sit there all night?  This was your idea?”

Despite himself, he grinned and let her pull him out of his seat.  Her fingers were looped around his wrist and she tugged him deeper into the crowd.

Bellamy went to clubs even less than he went to undergrad parties but he didn’t mind the crowds that often came with either.  There was something about losing your identity in the writhing mass of bodies, simply becoming a person, one with the music, one with the person pressed up against you.

But Bellamy was finding that especially hard this time with Clarke Griffin pressed up against him in nothing but a tank top and a short skirt, legs a mile long and acres of pale porcelain skin exposed over her shoulders and down her arms.  Her skin was burning through the thin material of her shirt when he reached hesitantly for her hips.

The grin she shot him was wolfish before she spun, pressing her back up against him, hands coming down to grab his own and cement them over her waist.  Her head was back on his shoulder, and the smell of her hair was in his nose, and her skin was warm against his, and her breath fanned across his cheek, and the music took over.

Bellamy was no stranger to dancing but Clarke Griffin was something else.  She was a tornado, a whirlwind, a natural disaster that was going to rip through him and leave him gasping and broken and begging for more on the other side.  There was something to the way she moved, the way her hips circled against his, the way that one of her hands came up, scratching barely up his chest to his neck, fingers twisting in his hair, that set his blood on fire.

Who ever would have known that Clarke Griffin could make Bellamy Blake feel this good.

There are strangers around him everywhere, bodies pressed up against his, dark and sensual and filthy but Bellamy didn’t give a shit about the girl eyeing him to his left or the couple practically fucking on their other side.  All he can care about is Clarke Griffin’s icy blue gaze, burning with a fire he’s never seen before, lips parted just a little, sheen of sweat on her face, as he spins her again.

She wasn’t expecting that and she catches herself with her free hand on his chest, fingers curving experimentally around his shoulder, thumb brushing up against the bare skin of his neck above his collar.  The feeling runs through him like wildfire.  Her answering grin is so feral that it takes everything in him not to kiss her.

The music slid into something heavier and Clarke’s arms around both around his neck now, fingers laced into his hair, nails scratching his scalp, and his hands were spanned around her hips, gripping so hard he worried they might bruise.  Their faces were so close he could see the gray specks in the small sliver of blue left in her eyes as her pupils reached out to swallow the iris whole.  Her breath puffed against his lips and he licked them.  He barely caught her sharp intake of breath but he did catch how she pressed herself impossibly closer.

“This was a mistake,” she growled into his ear, hands tightening in his hair.

He grinned but didn’t reply.  Instead, he traced one finger down her side, delighting in the shiver that it induced.

“You’re an asshole, Blake,” she hissed back but there was a yearning under her usual anger that thrilled Bellamy to his core.

“Don’t lie to me, Griffin,” he breathed back.  “It doesn’t look good on you.”

Her eyes glinted with a new challenge.  She leaned forward, sliding neatly into the crook of his neck.  Her lips brushed his skin as she whispered back, “Be careful what you wish for.”

“I didn’t--”

She cut him off when she kissed him and he let her.

Clarke Griffin tasted like not so cheap beer, strawberry lip gloss, and sin, and Bellamy Blake loved every second of it.

He’d always suspected, in the dark night moments that he let himself think about Clarke Griffin’s lips or her hands in a way that definitely would have gotten him kicked out of church, that she’d kiss like this.  Like this was a war and every second, every bite, every lick, mattered.  Her teeth scraped over his lip and he bit hers in return and the gasp she released into his mouth tasted intoxicatingly like blood, hers or his he wasn’t sure.

Somehow his hand had slid under her shirt and her skin was even hotter now, practically burning his hand and her tongue was tracing against the back of his teeth, her hands twisting dangerously tight in his hair and Bellamy knew there were people he knew in that crowd, people that Clarke knew, people who knew they hated each other, but he didn’t care.  In that moment, he would have done anything to keep Clarke’s lips on his.

Her neck tasted like sweat when he chased her pulse point, biting down just barely over it and she swore, something dark and angry and unladylike that made Bellamy grin viciously against her skin.

She tugged on his hair, yanking his mouth back to hers and he went willingly, chasing the taste of strawberry into her mouth, tongue sliding along hers, swallowing her answering moan.

When they broke apart she was gasping, eyes wide, lips cherry red and swollen.  A thrill went through him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said before he had the chance to stop himself.

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Her answering smile was slow and all consuming, sharklike and wide, and Bellamy knew he was going to drown.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered into his ear, sliding her hand down and over his shoulder, fingers light and teasing.

He smothered his grin in the curve of her neck as his hands slid lower over the swell of her ass.

“Now _that’s_  what I’m talking about,” she said before biting down hard on his ear.

Bellamy’s answering hiss was lost against her lips as she kissed him again.

“Didn’t take you for an exhibitionist.”

“Oh, I figure there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Bellamy Blake.”

He pushed her hair off her neck, pressed long slow kisses to her skin.  Her head tipped back, eyes closing.  She let out a long sigh.

“I’m game if you are, Griffin.”

Her laugh was wild and unhindered and this was the greatest night of Bellamy Blake’s life.

She kissed him again, harder, rougher, wilder, and there was a promise there, one that spoke of a darkened room, a bed that belonged to neither of them, Clarke’s shirt on the floor next to Bellamy’s.  It spoke of bare skin against bare skin and blue eyes staring into his as he traced a hand down her side.  It spoke of Clarke’s blonde hair fanned across the pillow, lips parted as he learned those secrets, mapped out every inch of her.

“You’re on, Blake,” she breathed against his lips and he grinned.

Really, everyone should have expected this: Bellamy’s hands on Clarke’s wrists on cool sheets above a pillow.  Bellamy slipping the clasp on Clarke’s bra, reverent hands tracing down her sides as her back arched, mouth open on a prayer that might have also been a plea.  Clarke’s hands in Bellamy’s hair like an anchor, holding herself to him.  Clarke’s lips tracing down Bellamy’s neck, his gasps smothered against her wrist.  

Really, everyone should have known that when Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin inevitably came together, they would burn the world down.  And as Bellamy pressed his lips to the ridge of Clarke’s collar bone, he knew that they’d always been building to this moment and also that there’s no going back because Clarke Griffin is a drug and he’s had more than just a taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](http://andrevvminyard.tumblr.com)


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